This priest, of such eloquence and beauty, was Jeremy Taylor,[49] who was the son of a barber at Cambridge, was entered at Caius College as sizar, or charity scholar, just one year after Milton was entered at Christ College, and from the door of his father’s shop may have looked admiringly many a time upon the “rosy cheeks Angelical, keen eye, courageous look, And conscious step of purity and pride,” which belonged even then to the young Puritan poet. But Jeremy Taylor was not a Puritan; never came to know Milton personally. One became the great advocate and the purest illustration of the tenets of Episcopacy in England; and the other--eventually--their most effective and weighty opponent. In 1640, only one year after Jeremy Taylor was established in his pleasant Rutland rectory, Archbishop Laud went to the Tower, not to come forth till he should go to the scaffold; and in the Civil War, breaking out presently, Jeremy Taylor joined the Royalists, was made chaplain to the King, saw battle and siege and wounds; but in the top of the strife he is known by his silvery voice and his exuberant piety, and by the rare eloquence which colors prayer and sermon with the bloody tinge of war and the pure light of heaven. He is wounded (as I said), he is imprisoned, and finally, by the chances of battle, he is stranded in a small country town near to Caermarthen, in South Wales. “In the great storm,” he says, “which dashed the vessel of the Church all in pieces, I was cast on the coast of Wales, and in a little boat thought to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in England I could not hope for.” The little boat he speaks of was the obscure mountain home where he taught school, and where he received, some time, visits from the famous John Evelyn,[50] who wrote charming books in these days about woods and gardens, and who befriended the poor stranded chaplain. Here, too, he wrote that monument of toleration, _The Liberty of Prophesying_, a work which would be counted broad in its teachings even now, and which alienated a great many of his more starched fellows in the Church. A little fragment from the closing pages of this book will show at once his method of illustration and his extreme liberality: “When Abraham sat at his tent door, waiting to entertain strangers, he espied an old man stopping by the way, leaning on his staff, weary with much travel, and who was a hundred years of age. “He received him kindly, provided supper, caused him to sit down; but observing that the old man ate, and prayed not, neither begged for a blessing on his meat, he asked him why he did not worship the God of Heaven? “The old man told him he had been used to worship the sun only.